One Soul
by CatchMeInADream
Summary: The third and final installment to One Breath and One Lifetime. Reviews make a girl happy. So scamper off and make me very happy.


Author's Notes: Ok. Last one. This is the sequel to One Breath and One Lifetime. You don't have to read those to understand this, but you can if you want. And you know you want to. ;) Sorry it took so long to get posted. My A drive crapped out on me, so it took a while before I could get it onto a computer with internet access.  
  
By the way, I completely guessed at Xander's age. I never was able to kep track of how old everyone was. I'm fairly sure I'm only off by a year or two though.  
  
*****  
  
One Soul  
  
Xander Harris winced as his knees creaked loudly in protest of the squat he'd forced himself into. He lowered himself carefully to the ground, stretching out his complaining legs in a futile effort to get them to shut up. This time was /their/ time and he didn't need a pair of arthritic joints ruining it for him.  
Gently, he laid a bouquet of yellow roses on the soft earth before him. His good eye traced the name engraved on the rose coloured headstone.  
'Anya Harris' said the stone. Below it were a couple of dates-one completely made up, one much too true-and a little generic epithet-beloved friend, lover, that sort of thing. It wasn't those words he valued; it was the simple sight of his last name tacked on to her first one.  
"Seems kind of stupid to come here and talk to an empty plot," he muttered to himself, just like he always did. "I guess it's the name I talk to, not the ground. Hope you don't mind, by the way. I know we were never actually married ... but that's my fault, not yours. Biggest mistake I ever made."  
Again with the apology. He did it every time he visited the stone. Always would, he supposed. He'd never forgive himself for what he'd done to her on their wedding day. Absent-mindedly, he arranged the blooming yellow flowers with one hand.  
"Another year's gone by already," he went on. "Can you believe it, Ahn? It's been a whole fifty years since Sunnydale. Amazing, isn't it? I'm seventy-three years old now. How time flied."  
He fell silent for a moment, remembering that saddened yet somehow triumphant bus ride away from the dusty remains of Sunnydale, California. Despite the fact that fifty long years had passed since the complete and utter destruction of his childhood home, he remembered it as if it had happened yesterday.  
"Sometimes I still don't know how we ended up here," he continued. An ant crawled over the tip of his show. Xander watched it with the vague interest of the distracted. "The other week, I was pulling out of the division and he sign caught my eye. I had to stop and think for a moment, remind myself that I've been living in Westminster, Colorado for damn near forty-eight years now. I still want to call Will or Buffy to see if they want to run to the Espresso Pump every once in a while."  
He laughed to himself. "Guess that's the price of old age, huh? You were right you know. It sucks every bit as much as you thought it would."  
He was exaggerating, of course. Getting old hadn't been all that bad; it was waking up one morning and realizing that he had a mop of silver hair and a wrinkled face that was the shock. He'd never felt himself get old and then WHAM! One day he was geriatric.  
"Willow and Kennedy's anniversary was nice," Xander blurted abruptly, and chuckled. "Do you know how scary it is to be in a room full of post- menopausal Slayers? But boy can those girls play shuffleboard!"  
The joke was weak; none of the Slayers played shuffleboard. In fact, Xander wasn't even sure they knew what the game was. And he wasn't keen on the idea of letting super-strong women get their hands on those long stick things. That was just fine with him, because he'd never really seen the idea of pushing one of those disks back and forth as entertainment. Nope, give him a crossbow and a creepy graveyard at midnight any day. He could still hold his own.  
"Not that many of them came," he said suddenly, pulling himself out of his wandering train of thought. "Buffy got a few of them that were there in Sunnydale to come, but mostly they've either died or gone home.  
"That reminds me, by the way. Rona died about a month ago. We buried her next to Vi in LA. Those two were constantly getting themselves into trouble. If you ever see either of them up there in Heaven, tell 'em old Xander said hello. Oh, and Faith and Giles too. Huh. Never thought I'd actually miss Faith once she was gone. Crazy how these things work out, isn't it?"  
He sighed; it seemed that every time he visited Anya's empty grave he had one or two more names to add to the list of the dead. Giles had died about six years after the battle with the First. Robin Wood about twelve years after that, and Faith only three after him. In the years between those three were the deaths of various Slayers they'd known. They'd all gone down fighting, save for Giles. That lucky bastard had just slipped away in his sleep.  
"Buffy's still going strong, though," he said proudly. "Of course, she's not as into the Slayage as she was fifty years ago, or even thirty, but she's still the best of them all. Oldest damn Slayer in history, too. Dawn's mighty proud of her. We don't get to see her much anymore though. She's still in England, finishing rebuilding the Watcher's Council like Giles wanted.  
"Let's see ... who haven't I touched base on yet?" he mused aloud. Sometimes he couldn't remember the things he wanted to say only moments after he decided he wanted to say them. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Right! Andrew. You'd think fifty years would be enough for him to ... grow up, but not so much. He'd still a spazz. Owns a chain of comic book stores though, down there in Miami. He and his husband have a brand new granddaughter not too." Xander paused. "So he didn't waste the life you died to give him."  
He fell into a silence that stretched so long that, had he been talking to an actual person, might have become awkward. A soft smile played on his lips.  
"I say the same things every time I come here, don't I? Sorry about that, honey. Got nothing better to do. I suppose you do, don't you? Maybe you're sitting up there in Heaven wanting to come down and strangle me so you don't have to listen to the same crap every single time, huh? Can't blame you with that one."  
He sighed heavily. He picked up one of the blossoms he'd brought with him and fingered its yellow petals thoughtfully.  
"Don't think I have much time left here though," he stated finally, matter-of-factly. "I get more tired every day. One of these days, my knees are just going to completely give out. Nope, don't think it'll be very long before I'm in the ground too."  
He cast a brief glance at the spot immediately to the left of Anya's headstone. It was the plot he'd reserved for himself years back, when he'd decided to finally settle down and give Anya a memorial. Two rows away was the stone Buffy had had put of for Joyce, and three away from that was the one Kennedy had had made for Tara as a surprise for Willow. Buffy had reserved two plots next to Joyce's; one for her and one for Dawn. Farther from those was one for Jenny Calendar, and Giles was right next to it. Jessie had one somewhere near by, and Willow and Kennedy both had plots not to far away too. Yep, they were just one big happy family.  
"I'm kind of relieved, actually," Xander went on. "I've been here long enough. I just ... I miss you so much, Ahn. I still wake up thinking you'll be right there next to me, you know. And I'm so tired. I'll be glad for the rest.  
"Well, I guess I'd better be going then," he finished. "It's almost dark. Hope you're not causing too much trouble up there. Oh, and by the way, I love you."  
He pushed himself off the ground, grimacing with discomfort as his bones groaned. He stood a moment before Anya's plot, then dropped the yellow rose back onto it. Slowly, he walked back to his car.  
  
*****  
  
"So we'll definitely see you tomorrow?" Willow asked anxiously as Xander went to unlock the door to his home.  
"It's a date, Will," Xander reassured. "Tell Kennedy I said hey."  
"Will do, best bud," Willow grinned. She turned to leave, but suddenly paused. Turning on her heel, she gave Xander a bone-crushing hug.  
"Woah there, Will. Breathing becoming a problem."  
"Oops, sorry," Willow blushed.  
Xander shrugged, returning the unexpected but not unwanted show of affection. "What's this for anyway?"  
"Oh, just for being you," Willow shrugged. She tucked a grey-laced strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just thinking ... we've been friends since forever and we've lived through a hell of a lot, but we're still friends and do you know how cool that is?"  
Xander laughed; sure, the witch had gotten older, but not a whole lot had changed about her. "Yeah, Will, we sure have. I'll see you tomorrow then."  
"Bright and early!" Willow waved happily and bounced down Xander's front walk. It was nice, Xander reflected, to be able to walk somewhere at night without having to worry about becoming something's snack. She lived only a few blocks away, which, back in Sunnydale, would have been a dangerous distance if you were walking it alone, without protection, like Willow was doing now.  
When Willow had rounded the corner and disappeared, Xander stepped into his own empty house. He hung his jacket up by the door and made his way slowly and carefully up the stairs to his room.  
*Should sell this place,* he thought vaguely. *Buy an apartment. Kind of silly for one old man to have a house all to himself.*  
The logic was good, but when it came right down to it, he liked the house. It was the kind of place he'd pictured himself living in with Anya as his wife, way back when he was young enough to dream of the future. So he'd keep it, and hopefully he'd die in it.  
He sighed and settled himself back into bed. The digital clock by his bedside-the kind with the huge red numbers that were specifically designed for the visually impaired-read only ten o'clock. Xander grinned to himself. He really was an old geezer if ten o'clock was a late night.  
He shrugged to himself and reached over to flip the light off. Within moments, he was fast asleep.  
  
*****  
  
When Xander woke again, he was surrounded by white. He sat up, rubbing his eyes in confusion. All around him, nothing but white. In the distance, it dwindled to a faint black point, but other than that ...  
Wait a second. Eyes? Plural? Since when did Xander have eyes? Last time he'd checked, he'd definitely just had eye. Tentatively, he placed his hand over his left eye. And could still see out of the other one. Well. This was ... odd.  
So. Here he was, alone in the Great White Nothing, with two eyes. And depth perception. Very cool, but also very wrong.  
He stood up. Taking a deep breath, he called, "What the hell is going on here? Where am I?"  
  
"Good question," said a voice behind him. "No one's ever figured that one out. You'd think someone would have, considering how long some of these people have been pushing up daisies, but nope. Not a clue."  
Xander stiffened. That voice ... but no. It couldn't be. He was definitely dreaming, and if he turned around, he would not be facing ... ok. So he /would/ be facing Anya. All right.  
"We just call it the Waiting Room," she finished quietly. "Hi, Xander."  
Xander stood still for a moment, shocked dumb and silent. Then he was tripping over himself to get to her. For a second he was afraid to touch her. What if he was dreaming and she disappeared when he tried to take her into his arms? But then she flung her arms around his neck and squeezed. Neither of them disappeared and Xander didn't wake up.  
"So I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that I'm dead," he said bluntly after a moment's silence.  
Anya nodded slowly. "Yeah."  
Xander took a deep breath. Ok, he felt weird. There was some sadness mixed in with that and ... ah. Coming up fast was the relief. He exhaled heavily. "Finally. Thought I'd have to wait forever."  
Anya blinked. "Huh?"  
"Nothing," Xander said quickly. "But you know, seventy-three's a pretty good age to go at."  
"Seventy-three," Anya breathed. "Fifty years since I died. It doesn't feel that way."  
"Feels longer," Xander whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. "I missed you so much."  
Anya smiled. "I missed you too. I'm sorry I wasn't able to ... make it."  
"Oh, Ahn, honey, that's not your fault at all," Xander admonished. They stood silently for a moment before he spoke again. "So ... is this it? Life after death and all that?"  
"Hm? Oh, no. This is just the Waiting Room," Anya smiled brightly. "At least, that's what we call it. No one knows what it is, really. You wake up here and someone you know and loved that's already died is here to greet you, and then they take you to Heaven. Like ... a welcoming committee or something. Without the banners and parties and stuff."  
"So I get to go to Heaven?" Xander's eyebrows rose.  
"Did you ever doubt it?"  
He shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah."  
"Idiot," Anya stated. He blinked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Hey, when you've spent 1100 odd years of your ridiculously long life eviscerating and torturing the males of the human race, then you can be surprised when you end up in Heaven. Until then, deal with it."  
Xander laughed delightedly and kissed her. She seemed surprised for a split second, but then she was kissing him back, practically purring with satisfaction. She sighed happily when they parted.  
"Been waiting fifty years to do that again," Xander said.  
"Me too," Anya admitted. "So, you ready to go?"  
Xander hesitated. *I dunno.* he thought. *Am I?*  
He went over everything in his head. There wasn't any reason for him to want to stay or anything. He'd lived a long, full live. He'd been lucky enough to have friends like Willow and Buffy, and he'd had lots of adventures and excitement. And now, he was finally reunited with the woman he'd never stopped loving. No, he was good to go.  
"Yeah, Ahn," he nodded. "I am ready."  
Anya smiled and held out her hand. Xander took it gladly, and together, they walked into Heaven.  
"By the way," Anya said suddenly. "That headstone of mine? Anya Harris. /Very/ presumptuous of you, Alexander Harris."  
Xander's laughter echoed throughout the white expanse of the Waiting Room long after the two were gone.  
  
The End  
  
***** 


End file.
